Staying for Breakfast
by KADH
Summary: While first times are frequently memorable, second times speak volumes.    Takes place post season five, between stories "Consummation" and "Love Letters,"   circa July 2005.


**Staying for Breakfast**

While first times are frequently memorable, second times speak volumes.

_Takes place post season five, between stories "Consummation" and "Love Letters,"_

_circa July 2005._

_Thanks a lot, G - who for some reason thought that writing a story on my cell phone was a good idea. I don't care if it's a smart phone, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the use for the memo pad the creators had in mind. But I suppose it is a constructive way to put chronic insomnia to good use._

_

* * *

_

While Gil Grissom had given the entrance to the workroom a gentle rap so as _not _to startle her, Sara had been so absorbed in her minute examination of the mostly mangled clothes from a body that had washed up on the shores of Lake Mead the day before that she started anyway.

But her momentary disquiet quickly gave way to a grin once she caught sight of Grissom standing there as impeccably dressed as he always was on the days he had to testify in court. Well, apart from the fact that he'd already loosened his tie and undone his top shirt button.

Genuinely happy to see him, she answered his far more intimate than usual, "Hey," with one of her own.

It had been more than a week, nearly two now that Sara thought about it, since their having been called in to work early had forced the two of them to table the rest of a day together. The early call in hadn't been anything new or frankly unexpected. The fact that Brass had roused them out of bed after an afternoon of lovemaking however had been.

And even with Sara having worked an obscene number of doubles as of late, they hadn't had much of a chance to see each other at the office. Grissom had spent the last several days waiting to be called in to testify and with every shift tapped out as usual, Sara had mostly scored solo assignments.

Vegas was Vegas and the middle of July the height of mid-summer madness. So some things never changed.

For Grissom and Sara, still new as they were to the process of negotiating that unfamiliar territory of what the change from longtime coworkers to something far more intimate really meant, over the last couple of months, things had been both very much the way they'd always been and yet very different from what they'd ever been.

Not much had really altered at work. They'd each been smiling a lot more than usual, particularly at each other, but no one else appeared to notice as busy as they'd all been.

Outside the lab, if that Tuesday had been any indication...

Grissom indicated his watch. "It's after one. You planning on wrapping things up here anytime soon?"

Although more amused than irritated, Sara gave him a rather rueful shake of the head and sighed, "Yes."

She should have probably expected it, Grissom having been on her more about her hours as of late.

Although from the way he was continuing to linger in the doorway long after she'd replied, Sara was starting to doubt that another lecture was forthcoming. This sudden hesitancy of his smacked more of the personal rather than professional variety. While Grissom never flinched when it came down to handing out potentially distasteful assignments, inquiring about difficult cases or providing critique or criticism when the situation warranted, when it came to matters of a more private nature, that was another story entirely.

However, Sara had known Grissom long and well enough to know that there was seldom any point to rushing him; he got to whatever it was when he got to it. And at the moment, apart from nodding approvingly, he seemed content to make no other comment. Still, perhaps a little prodding wouldn't hurt.

"You heading out?" she asked, even if his appearance indicated he obviously was.

"On my way now."

Then Grissom took a rather tentative step inside. "If I recall correctly," he began quietly, "I still owe you breakfast. I mean if you didn't have any other plans this afternoon."

Gratified at this unexpected invitation Sara grinned. "I don't actually."

And although she doubted it was breakfast at Frank's he was suggesting, she inquired, "Your place?" just to be sure. At his nod, she eyed the evidence still spread out on the table before her, calculating an appropriate stopping point.

"Give me an hour."

* * *

Alas, it was significantly more than an hour by the time Sara rang the bell.

Relieved to have finally arrived and immensely grateful to be able to step out of the triple digit heat and into the refreshing coolness of his condo, Sara was about to launch in with her apologies when Grissom leaned in and turned the broad grin he'd greeted her at the door with into a kiss.

While welcomed, she was slightly taken aback at the gesture, still getting used as she was to the brush of his beard, that firm yet tender press of his lips to hers. And the fact that all of this wasn't just okay, but something they both desired.

"I like the new look," Sara confessed, fingering the green ties of the apron he'd donned over his now slightly more casual than typical work clothes. "It suits you somehow."

From the swift way his face had darkened slightly, he must have thought she was teasing him, so she smiled and said in all sincerity, "I'm serious. I like it. Just takes some getting used to is all."

After all, she'd never had anyone take the time to cook for her. But Grissom seemed to get an inordinate amount of pleasure from doing so and she wasn't about to complain.

"You do realize," she said, "you don't have to go through so much trouble."

That being said, Grissom could hear in her voice she was pleased that he had.

Besides, he liked cooking for Sara, him having never had anyone to cook for really. Plus, having to come up with vegetarian-friendly meals was a mind broadening challenge he readily welcomed.

There was just one problem.

While whatever he was concocting in the kitchen smelled absolutely divine, it certainly didn't smell like any breakfast Sara had ever had, and at her saying as much to him, Grissom looked oddly guilty for some reason.

After a moment he said, his voice not quite even, "I thought you might stay for breakfast."

Realizing the full implications of what he was proposing, Sara beamed, "I'd like that," and excused herself to retrieve the bag in which she kept a spare change of clothes from her trunk.

Long ago, Sara had learned that you never knew when a case might get particularly nasty, and if you didn't have to spend the day reeking of de-comp, then why do it? Lately, however, the bag was coming in handy for far more pleasant purposes.

By the time she returned, Grissom was already back to work in the kitchen and quietly humming to himself of all things. At the sound of which, Sara soon found herself flushing with fondness.

Popping her head in, she asked, "Is there enough time for a quick shower?"

It having taken longer than she'd originally thought to finish up at the lab, and having not wanted Grissom to think any more than necessary that she wasn't coming, Sara hadn't bothered with a trip home to clean up. Nevertheless, after more than fourteen hours at the office, she really needed a shower.

Ever hospitable, he nodded. "You remember where everything is?"

Although Grissom had given her the grand tour a few weeks back, cockroaches and all, Sara was still getting accustomed to being in, let alone actually being wanted in his private spaces. It was just another one of those things to get used to. Not that she - or he - seemed to mind.

Besides, it wasn't likely that she'd forget, not after the last time.

For the most part, Sara wasn't really all that into sharing showers, as most of the time, one person was usually left out in the cold - literally. But that Tuesday afternoon she hadn't been able to resist the chance to have Grissom's hands on her one more time. And his shower had proved to have plenty of pressure and ample hot water, both a must for those in their profession. Not that they had needed much of the latter. The shower had been steamy enough and likely would have been far more if they hadn't been in a hurry to get to work.

With a slight pursed lipped smirk of amusement, Sara replied, "I know it's been a while. But it wasn't _that_ long ago, Grissom."

His rejoining look implied he thought differently.

And her "I'll make it quick" was accordingly flirtatious.

* * *

Sara was as good as her word, soon emerging freshly shampooed, showered and changed, with her still damp hair up in a hurried ponytail and her smelling, as she leaned in over his shoulder the better to examine the casserole Grissom had pulled out of the oven, like the unscented soap he favored.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much, thanks," she grinned and set about laying the dishes and all the rest of the usual accoutrements for dinner with all the familiarity of one who regularly possessed the pleasures of this particular table, even if they were in truth more of a rather recent development.

Taking in the freshly tossed salad he pulled from the fridge and the rich steaming gratin cooling on the counter, something clicked.

Causing Sara to observe, "There's no way you could have prepped all of this in an hour."

He gave this and her a rather nonchalant shrug before saying, "I took care of it before heading to the courthouse this morning."

"You were that certain I didn't have any plans?" chuckled Sara.

"No," he countered, "just hoping you'd say yes."

Pleased as she was by this reply, Sara leaned in and kissed him, and likely the kiss would have moved beyond simple affection, if the oven timer hadn't chosen that particular moment to go off.

* * *

As she was rinsing the last of the plates to load into the dishwasher that Grissom insisted they use this time and to which she had made no protest, Sara ventured to ask, "You don't have dessert hidden around here somewhere, do you?"

"No, sorry," he apologized.

Except Sara didn't look the least bit sorry. In fact, just the opposite.

"Good," she intoned, swinging the dishwasher door closed behind her.

"Good?" he echoed.

"Don't get me wrong. Your cooking is... Amazing. But I'm really not in the mood for dessert."

Picking up the playfulness in her tone, he hustled the remaining leftovers into the refrigerator before hazarding to inquire after what she _was_ in the mood for.

"Bed."

But Grissom could play dumb like the best of them when he wanted. "Tired, dear?" he asked.

She simply took his hand and tugged him down the hall.

* * *

This time they didn't bother with shutting the door. But they didn't head straight for bed either.

Instead, Grissom caught Sara up by the waist and spun her until she faced him, her hands coming to rest on his chest, his fast at her waist. Their eyes locked and her sudden laughter quit as quick as it had begun.

And they stood there suspended in the moment, both breathing hard, a little breathless, and not from their brief jaunt down the hall; the tension, the desire flowing between them almost palpable.

They leaned in. And while the kiss that followed, like those earlier, began tentatively tender; more innocent than passionate, once Sara's arms slid around his neck and she rose up onto her tiptoes to deepen and lengthen the kiss, there was in its hot, openmouthed possession shortly nothing chaste about it. Nor any way to confuse what either wanted most at that moment.

For not until they both _had_ to breathe did they break away.

That wasn't to say a little of the nervous shyness from their last - and first - time didn't remain. It did.

But there was no hesitation now.

At least, Sara mused with a slight smile as she fingered his collar, she didn't have to worry about buttons this time. Absently sliding the lone one free, part of her wondered if it had been a deliberate choice on his part. Though the wondering didn't last long. Grissom's eyes granted permission before she asked, and with very little ceremony, Sara gave the polo a swift tug over his head.

Although still slightly self-conscious, Grissom let her look, knowing how he'd wondered, wondered what it would be like to look freely, to discover where and how she would like to be touched and kissed. The one time they had made love had only served to increase that curiosity. He certainly couldn't fault her for it now.

Her gaze and then her hands inched up his chest to follow the slope of his shoulders, the tautness in his upper arms. But when her eyes flicked up to his, he found only hearty appreciation there.

Slowly circling him, Sara paused only long enough to press a kiss into one shoulder blade, before replacing the pads of her fingers with the tips of her nails. She was rewarded for this effort by the low growl of her name exhaled no louder than a whisper - a sound she wanted to hear him make again - and again.

But Grissom had other ideas.

His whole body humming at her touch, the heat of her hands heaven on his skin, and her mouth even more so, he craved nothing more than to be as near to her as he could.

So he turned. So little remained of his trademark reserve in the way he was peering at her, it gave her pause as unused as Sara was to find such an open mixture of desire and tenderness staring back at her.

Her smile turned into a sigh as his hands slipped beneath the fabric of her t-shirt.

But it wasn't until she'd yanked the impeding garment over her head that she realized she wasn't exactly wearing sexy underwear. Typically, Sara tended to favor bras and panties of the more comfortable and functional sort than the decorative; the ones she kept as an emergency stash in the trunk of her car even more so.

Her momentary chagrin didn't last long. Grissom didn't even seem to notice, let alone care, and it wasn't as if the bra remained in view for long in any case.

And the unnatural ineptness in the way he'd fumbled with the clasps Sara found just as equally endearing as she had the first time.

After that, any of their earlier patience briskly gave way to ardor. They scrambled out of jeans and pants and remaining undergarments with much urgency and very little grace, so that they were both naked by the time they hit the bed.

Truth was neither could get enough of each other.

And whatever Gil Grissom might have lacked by way of confidence, he made up for in enthusiasm. There was plenty they had left to learn about each other, but the prospect didn't faze them in the slightest. Both had always been eager students and quick studies. Unsurprisingly, they were in this too. It was hard not to be, the reward of an involuntary hitch of breath, a soft sigh or a long drawn out rumble of a moan as great as it was.

So gradually they began to map the places where the other liked to be kissed or caressed. Not that it was all that studious - or serious either. Particularly as it turned out, much to Sara's amusement, that Grissom was indeed more than a little ticklish.

But mostly it was tenderness.

Lips met and breath caught and mingled and sighed.

The way his fingers played on her skin, in how they would pause to rest against her as if content to simply absorb her warmth before resuming their way once more was more intense and yet gentler than Sara ever imagined.

Actually, her imaginings hadn't even come close.

Once his hand slipped from along the now familiar curves of her neck, the swell of her breasts and lower beyond that slight rise of her belly, Sara found it harder and harder to bury her moans in his mouth. She trembled; arched into his touch until her whole body relaxed.

For a moment she just lay there, heart thumping, still panting, barely able to breathe, let alone move limbs that felt like they'd been turned to jelly.

The way that Grissom looked so satisfyingly smug over the whole thing only made her want to see what happened if she reciprocated the attention.

So that she was pleased more than not, when upon placing his hand over hers so as to still its movements he'd cut off her bemused query of "You don't like..." with a frank, "I do, that's the problem."

She'd been unable to contain her grin, as she leaned in to say, "I thought that was supposed to be the point."

To which she was certain Grissom was about to launch into an explanation and probably a detailed one. Why she wasn't entirely sure exactly, but he had that look.

So she cut him off with a kiss. One he was so utterly caught up in that only when his eyes reopened did he realize that she had him pinned to the bed.

Completely.

Ultimately, quite the pleasant predicament in his opinion.

For being with her like this was certainly unlike any other pleasure he'd ever known; Sara felt the same.

That joy of skin on skin. The infinitely intimate connection in the slow, sensual rock and sway of unhurried lovemaking.

Then he held her hard and fast and still. Not as she knew to say stop, but just to give him a moment; she wasn't ready to give in either.

At the feel of his lips and breath at her neck, she gasped out a murmur of "Gris -"

And the sweet sultry ebb and flow began again.

Although nearly overcome himself, Grissom was intent on watching the pleasure fill her face. Her head fell back and the sight and feel of her once again trembling in his arms finally overwhelmed him.

* * *

But neither ready to relinquish the contact, they simply stayed holding each other until their hearts and breath resumed their regular rhythms.

After a while Grissom whispered, "You okay?"

"Very," she replied. "You?"

His "Yeah" was as openly content as his smile. "Though," he said, brushing a damp strand back behind her ear and placing a kiss into her hair, "you can't be comfortable."

Sara didn't see any point in contradicting him, particularly when he drew her to him under the sheets until she was snuggled into his side.

"I can hear your heart beating," she sighed, closing her eyes the better to listen. While she shouldn't have been surprised, she was.

_And what does it say?_ part of him wanted to ask. The part of him that wished he possessed all the words for what he was feeling, for everything he wanted to tell her.

Until he did, he hoped his heart at least hinted at them.

* * *

Some time later, Sara woke to find herself not only sans clothes, but also sans blankets. Apparently at some point during the afternoon, Grissom had rolled over from where they'd been cuddled up together and taken the bulk of them with him.

Her body instinctively seeking out his warmth, she migrated to his side of the bed without even bothering to open her eyes.

At this and the feel of her hand slipping along his skin beneath the sheets, Grissom stirred and was wide awake by the time she molded her body to his.

He shifted onto his back and greeted her with another soft, "Hey."

And as it was still early yet, they lingered for a while in bed together, kissing and touching and talking in that soft, quiet way that new lovers are wont to do.

Till Sara's stomach let out a rather impatient rumble.

Grissom chuckled. "I guess this means I should probably feed you."

"Well, you did promise me breakfast."

So they reluctantly rose. Although their subsequent shared shower did much to dispel the last of any disinclination.

Neither quite ready to get dressed for work yet, Grissom slipped a well-worn flannel robe from off its peg and over Sara's shoulders. It smelled like him, much to her delight. Though the robe was several sizes too large for her and she had to roll up the sleeves to free up her hands, Grissom found the look incredibly sexy. He slipped on a sweatshirt and pants and they padded off to the kitchen.

After being told coffee was _just fine_, Grissom started the percolator. Sara knew to stand off to the side and out of the way while he retrieved ingredients from the cupboards and fridge.

Curious, she asked, "So what did you have planned?"

"Pancakes," he answered simply.

"My favorite."

Grissom shrugged as if to say he _had_ been paying attention. Or at least had been making an effort to be better about doing so.

Sara having offered to help, the two of them worked side by side at the counter with all their usual ease, her slicing fruit while he mixed up all the fixings for the batter.

Turned out that Grissom flipped pancakes as expertly as he had the crepes he'd made the first night he'd invited her over to his place for dinner. And he even went through what Sara regarded as the unnecessary trouble of warming the brand new bottle of syrup in a hot water bath on the stove.

But she certainly couldn't find fault in the results.

Attacking the plate of pancakes he put in front of her with such relish, it caused him to laugh, "Hungry, dear?"

Looking abashed for moment and just a moment, she replied, "They're just good pancakes."

For Sara couldn't cook to save her life. Frank's made passable pancakes that were filling but never anything to write home about. Grissom's were something else entirely: golden and light, yet rich, sweet, but not too sweet.

"More?" he offered.

She paused to think about it or at least to present the pretense of having to do so, before she said, "Maybe just one... Or two."

While he might tease her, Grissom was in actuality thrilled. Her appetite and unbridled enthusiasm was the best compliment his cooking had ever received. That and the slightly sticky and definitely sugary kiss she next gave him.

He was never ambivalent about pancakes ever again.

They were just finishing up the last of their coffee when both of their phones chimed in swift succession. Unsurprisingly, their quick checks of the caller ID indicated it was the lab.

Sara shrugged and with a resigned sigh said, "At least we got to have breakfast this time."


End file.
